


Ashes to Dust

by shadowflame611



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Ancients, Backstory, Gen, Hunters, musings, vaun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:59:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowflame611/pseuds/shadowflame611
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vaun and his Hunters doing their thing, many years before the events in NYC. Some musings on his background, but really just an exercise because I wanted to write him.</p><p>Death, possible graphic images... including the death of children mentioned.</p><p>Oneshot. Working title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, this is so not my usual caliber. I think? Either way I'm not completely satisfied LOL. xD
> 
> Anyway, many thanks to my friends from Tumblr, Majinkura and Frozenoverblackballoon, for the encouragement.
> 
> I do not own The Strain or related characters.

The charred remnants of their lives ground to dust beneath his boots.

Standing at the beginning of what must have been a main footpath, Vaun paused to survey the stillness of the desecrated town. The burned remains of buildings glowed faintly in thermal vision as the fires continued to gnaw on their meals. Flecks of soot peppered the air, swirling in the silent breeze.

Behind him, one of the hunters rattled it’s stinger restlessly. A pause, and then there was a mental rush of concurrence from the others. Vaun shifted on his feet as the moment passed and his company lapsed back in to silence.

They sensed the kin of the Other Maker.

 _Good_. Then this was the right place.

From this standpoint, the hybrid could not hear the telltale bloodbeat of any mortals. Judging by the look of the place, he’d be surprised if they came across too many.

He moved, flicking an order in the general direction of the  _strigoi_. They fanned out behind him, robotically obedient, the heat of their bodies pressing through the threads of his tunic in an ever-present reminder of their somber presence.

They neared the first house, passed through it, and moved on to other structures, gliding across the ruins in graceful silence. It wasn’t too long before the first life signal was detected- dim, but easy to recognize.

One of the hunters split from the group.

A moment later Vaun felt it’s pause at the detection of bloodworms. The idea of killing another  _strigoi_ , an effective extension of self, was against the initial pull of instinct.

Beneath his hood, the dhampir’s face twisted out of it’s usual neutral position, lips curling back over a pair of scythe-like incisors. They’d been through similar missions time and time again… and yet the reluctance always plagued his Hunters.

_Kill it._

His hunter did not hesitate again. There was the low, thrumming pressure of arousal in the back of the dhampir’s mind as it took action. It rejoined them several moments later, carcass slung over it’s shoulder, silently reabsorbing in to formation with limbs ticking as it came down from the heat of it's kill.

Vaun hummed tunelessly as he swept his mind over the structures before him. Instances such as these were becoming more frequent, requiring that he maintain a constant state of vigilance in order to hide the existence of his vampiric brethren. Still, the Ancients seemed to consider the issue a minor nuisance- with their Hunter and his team employed any future outbreaks were considered to be contained.

He wondered idly what would happen if and when he found himself overwhelmed.

They came across several other detectable heart beats ahead, together in the same rubble. Too simple. A wave of fresh unease spread throughout his group, tugging at the reins of Vaun’s control.

Clenching his jaw, he pushed back against the Hunters, willed against their instinct. The area needed to be cleansed, and thoroughly- there could be no careless trails left behind. Few humans knew of their existence, even outside the "Master's" circle of influence.

As they moved deeper in to the town the instance of newborn vampires increased as, satiated, the Master’s  _strigoi_  had moved forward with intent to infect. The flickering awareness of each newly spawned creature was properly smothered before it was introduced to the makeshift altar. Vaun disposed of one himself, tossing the body to a pile of smoldering rubble. He stood, letting his mind flit over the consciousness of each Hunter's progress, watching as the Master’s ire writhed from the corpse only to blacken and blister among the flames.

Thus far there were no fully fledged  _strigoi_  here. No doubt the Master’s cowardice and wit would lead it to travel with company. …Or, perhaps Vaun was getting ahead of himself. There was nothing in the town to suggest that the creature had been present at all.

Toward the center of town he split the group in three directions, taking one of the hunters with him as he navigated through the rubble.

To the western border there were several small homes arranged along a circular perimeter. Their fences had been broken down, leaving various livestock to scurry about. The animals cringed away from their shadows.

He first noted the faint, thready pulse from outside the door of a modest home, it’s roof partially collapsed beneath the destruction of the northern wall. Over the influence of his blanket order the  _strigoi_  ghosted past him, it’s hand reaching for the doorknob as it mechanically let itself in, muscles coiling with catlike grace as it stepped forth, interpreting it’s surroundings with ease despite the lack of moonlight.

Vaun entered the next home, tilting his head a bit at the distant  _thrum-thrumming_  of a pulse. He passed a cursory glance over the cool, darkened hues of the furniture before he turned to travel deeper in to the structure, chittering quietly to himself at the telltale alkaline scent wafting from below.

The basement latch was left open, and the door swung up and out on well-oiled hinges. He strode forth and allowed himself to fall freely in to the darkness, spreading his feet in anticipation a moment before he met the cool ground.

One of the newborns, a quick-changer, sensed him. It began it’s crooked charge as he was easing to a stand, and he sidestepped quickly to avoid it. Unable to cope with the change in momentum, the  _strigoi_  pitched itself straight in to a pile of old wood.

The resulting crash startled it’s still- human nestmate, who twitched awake. In the time it took him to roll over on to his belly, Vaun had already overwhelmed the first creature.

Still blind in the dark, the man opened his mouth, voice unnaturally hoarse as he called to his wife.

His senses however, only brought the feeling of something very warm in the room with him, along with a strange clicking sound.

He was dead before he truly noticed the halfling’s fingertips on his neck.

-

By the time he had stepped out to footpath, the innards of the house burning brightly with new flame,he could sense that the Hunter had already moved on from the first home.

Moving forward, Vaun became aware of another heartbeat, muffled, faster than the others. A pig scrambled in front of him, and with a grunt he nudged it out of the way with his toe, staining to hear beyond the animal heartbeats.

So much stronger than the others. The vitality of it drew a burning line down his throat, stirring his stinger awake, which swelled and rattled lightly whenever he exhaled.

He walked in a wide circle, head cocked to the side as he listened, finally centering his attention on a well. He paced over turned dirt and old bloodstains, running his fingers over the jagged end of a broken crank. Placing a hand on the cool stone of the base he peered over the edge and in to the darkness. As expected he could make out the warm glow of a body, and from this angle everything he had been sensing was that much stronger.

That was a child’s beat. A young child, judging by the pace of his heart and the rate of whispered respiration.

He took the rope and began the process of raising the child, the grainy scrape of wood against damp stone echoing hollowly from the well mouth. He reached down to take the handle of the bucket with care.

The baby simply stared at him, each painful exhale coming in small grunts, obviously too exhausted to cry. It’s lips and nose registered dully in Vaun’s thermal- too cold. The worn blanket couldn’t possibly provide the warmth it needed against the chill of the well.

And, like that- looking at this child, Vaun was pulled to a time long past, where he had observed a baby of similar age. Her eyes had been a deeper hue, her skin a warmer shade, but between the heartbeat and scent- the nostalgia was there.

He forced the memories down.

Then there was the sensation of a presence looming over his shoulder, glancing down at the bundle crammed in the bucket. It didn’t take him long to recognize it, to realize that the Hunter had returned, that it’s maker was observing him. The dhampir could feel it’s influence like a weight on his consciousness, still with contemplation.

Thaticus was the first to speak, the  _strigoi’s_  flat tone unmarred by the influence of his maker.  _Missed one._

Vaun grunted in agreement, the sound choked by the painful, ever-present throbbing of his thirst. His hands clasped the rim of the bucket, causing the wood to creak beneath iron bands. The child mewled weakly.

Echoing faintly, the Ancient finally spoke,  _this is not unlike a situation we have observed you in before._

Deciding that there was no answer worth damning himself over, the dhampir maintained his silence. As he thought, the Ancient continued, a faint note of thoughtfulness coloring it’s otherwise dull tenor.

_A human to do our bidding._

Vaun’s instincts reeled in warning, drawing a sick line of dread up his spine.

Hesitantly, he tried,  _My Grace, how different would this one be compared to the others?_

 _A warrior._ The voice was thin, dry, barely a whisper yet carried so much authority and power.  _A human raised beneath our influence. In your hand- a creature who already wanders the twilight between species._

Vaun looked to the child, crumpled and frail, clinging by mere fingertips to it’s mortal life.

Following a command Vaun hadn’t given, Thaticus moved to position before him, it’s eyes filled with telltale gleam as it stared down at the small bundle.

Then, blandly,  _it barely lives._

The hybrid rattled a bit, offering unneeded confirmation.  _Harsh conditions waste it’s energy._

A dull point of throbbing pressure manifested at the forefront of Vaun’s mind, something he’d come to associate with discussion among the Ancients. It ebbed and swelled till he could feel it pulsing to his fingertips.

The child squirmed weakly- sensing, but not understanding.

Then the moment broke, and with that Thaticus stepped back, rigidly moving past Vaun and out of his field of vision.

The dhamphir turned with him, looking on as though there would be further instruction, as though he didn’t already know that the Ancient had effectively left them alone and back beneath his charge.

Squatting, the hunter loomed over a body it had deposited minutes before. It grasped the pale flesh of a woman’s upper arm and hoisted her off the ground. It turned and glanced at it’s leader.

_Clear to the West._

After a moment Vaun tiltied his head in affirmation, swallowing thickly to direct air through his vocal chords for the first time in days.

“Onward, then.”

Over the  _strigoi’s_  broad shoulder the woman’s head lolled to the side, spilling thin brown waves across her face. Her arm hung loose and at an awkward angle, reaching toward the ground, the knuckle of her middle finger quite swollen at such an early stage in her Change.

The tiny babe in his grasp continued to grunt with the effort of breathing. As he moved Vaun removed it from the bucket in order to hold it closer. There was a sharp, telltale bitterness to it’s breath that the dhampir was familiar with. Without brisk intervention the child would die.

The footpath opened to a faintly familiar area, and at his presence the remaining hunters melted from their places in the shadows. They looked on impassively as Thaticus unloaded it’s haul in to what appeared to be a collected pile of rubble. The charred limbs of other victims were faintly visible in the moment before the fresh corpse joined the embers, sending an eruption of soot and sparks flying about the air.

The hunters stood still with anticipation.

The hybrid approached the woman’s body, gaze fixed on her form. There was an aching familiarity in her stillness. Her body was too thin, her flesh too pale, and yet the sight caused an uprising of memories unbidden.

He pushed against the tiding onslaught, willed himself back to focus. For a moment he was unsuccessful, saw himself standing in a too-familiar room before her, looking down at her wasted frame as she licked her cracked lips to speak:

_“Swear you will. I want your word.”_

His grip tightened around the babe, clenching through the threadbare layers to soft flesh, eliciting a weak whine.

He released the  _strigoi_  to a rendezvous point, expecting that they’d break away to feed. Almost simultaneously they unfurled from stiff postures, clicking and groaning, stepping from the wide semicircle around him.

After a few long moments to ensure he was alone, Vaun pulled the babe away from him, cradled it’s small head in his palm.

Long ago he’d stood similarly, at the side of a bed housing a mortal woman’s pale remains. The nurse had dutifully positioned his hands around the babe, molding his hold to a more proper fashion. The room had been ripe with the scent of blood, but he’d been distracted beyond even that as he looked in to the face of the squalling creature in his arms.

He’d been overwhelmed, forced to consult his more barbaric nature in favor of acting on impulse. The man in him was a conundrum of searing pain and elation while the vampiric half of him offered cool indifference.

He’d made a decision back then, one which followed him through life as surely as his shadow did, nipping at his heels. He’d been so sickeningly desperate to regain what he had lost that he had not considered the inevitable, had failed to recognize that he could not run from humanity’s pure, fragile mortality.

Still, he had given his word. Gifted a friend with peace of mind. How many times had he revisited this moment, known that the outcome would be the same?

Now he was faced by a similar choice, separated by centuries of wisdom through suffering.  

Vaun’s sire knew him well- anticipated his weaknesses and without a doubt had contributed to the strange, otherworldly conversation he’d just had.

For several long moments the only sounds present came from the crackling of flame as the town continued to deteriorate. The child mewled again, weaker than before. Vaun tilted his head in response, rattling softly as he debated with himself over the tiny, fleeting pulse in his grasp. His thumb moved passively over the child’s soft cranium, a gesture meant to bring comfort- something he’d picked up long ago.

Then he pulled his gaze up and away as he wrenched, forced himself still as he severed that last thread and waited for the stuttering bloodbeat to conclude.

He had anticipated the pain, regret, and overwhelming disgust, and forced himself to breathe evenly through clenched teeth. Gently he pulled the ragged blanket over the small face before stepping forward to lower it to the woman’s smoldering chest.

He stood, drawing his sword from it’s scabbard in one slow motion, metal ringing softly as it was released to the acrid air. He moved counterclockwise around the pile to stick it’s point in to the embers, pushing down on the fulcrum in order to release a tide of glowing rubble over the bodies.

Flames caught to the fresh material, licking across splintered surfaces as oily smoke rose heavenward. There was a series of  _cracks_  and  _pops,_ imaginary pleasure of an inanimate force fulfilling it’s role in nature.

Hissing quietly, the Born reached toward his  _strigoi_  nature once again, effectively pulling the blanket over his mangled self-loathing. With one last glance at the burning pile he straightened his back and turned on his heel, measured steps leading him up and away from the destruction below.


End file.
